All the cool people are putting on their skinny jeans and medically unnecessary eyewear right about now, grooving to a playlist made up of several identical bands, each with an over-privileged white boy frontman, getting pumped for a night of pretending to be bored at overcrowded bars. Since I am certifiably Old and Boring, I have elected to spend all of Saturday making food, and will now be moving on to the baking portion of the day. I’m readying my quilted apron for these bad boys:
They call for a pound of butter, so I’m expecting to come out of the experience in nothing less than an animal fat-induced coma. The deliciousness coma of ought-10, the history books will call it. Further updates forthcoming.